


Immortalis

by g33kg1rl



Series: Eternal [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Realizes Feelings For Castiel, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel, Dean Winchester figures out a back door, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Happy Ending, Hunting Husbands, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Prison Break from the Empty, Slow Burn, with Castiel as it should be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kg1rl/pseuds/g33kg1rl
Summary: “Will he live?”“Yes.”Dean nodded, mind spinning. “No catch? He won’t die in a year? Ten years? He won’t be whisked away for his happiness?” he forced out.“No catch. Once the price is paid, he’ll live all his long years by your side.”“Then I’m willing to pay the price.” Dean said and turned, striding through the door.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Eternal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019734
Comments: 31
Kudos: 192





	1. Fidem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this before I've watched the series finale. I have 1 hour and 18 minutes left before it will go live-stream and I can watch it.... but here is the first half. I'll post the second half as soon as I'm done. This chapter got away from me hardcore. It ended up almost twice as long as I was expecting, and the second half of the chapter is still growing. At least the second chapter will be all steamy. I hope you like my conclusion....... in case things aren't good. I don't know yet. I guess I'll find out soon. 
> 
> P.S. Pick out your favorite love song and play it at some point during this fic. You'll know the moment when to press play.

Dean leaned back in the front seat, arm resting along the bucket seat, watching Sam kiss and hold Eileen, nearly sobbing as she cupped his face and wiped his tears away and didn't complain when he lifted her off her feet to just hold her as close as possible. 

"Atta boy, Sammy." Dean said in the stillness of the Impala, waving a hand when Sam glanced back at him, before he and Eileen disappeared inside her home, leaving him alone on the street.   
Dean rubbed the steering wheel, throat bobbing, the blood in his ears the only sound. 

Sammy knew he was going to ditch him here. Let him have time with Eileen, allow those two crazy kids to reconnect and just be happy. He wanted them happy. Sam deserved it so fucking much it almost hurt in his desire for Sam to just be happy and to get something he wanted for the first time in his life. 

But it did scare him. 

He glanced to his right, at the long empty bench, and though he knew Sam's ass was forever imprinted in the leather and springs... what if this was it? Sam wouldn't always be with him anymore. They'd go off to hunt, sure, but Dean had always known he had only one place in life he fit, and this was it for him. This was his life. On the off chance he even made it to old age, he wasn't going to be the one with a place to retire too. He had the bunker and he'd have Sam; but an old car and an empty seat was all he was looking forward to having at his side as the years passed because Dean Winchester knew he'd die a hunter. There was no in-between for him.  
Unless....

Dean inhaled slow and deep, hand shaking a little as he leaned over and flipped the glove box open. One by one he turned every cell phone off, and lastly, he pulled his person cell out and powered it down, stuffing it into the glove box with the rest. The car felt silent, deathly still like a cemetery at midnight after the ghost was salted and burned. With another glance to the house, at the drawn curtains, and the warm fall light dappling the front walk, Dean looked forward, started Baby, and pulled out onto the road. The engine rattled his nerves even as his plan burned a hole in his mind. The list of ingredients in his pocket taunting him. 

This, Sam didn't know about. 

He drove through the night, music low, and the passing shine of the street lamps flashing across the hood of his car, illuminating the empty seat beside him. It jostled his nerves. He drove till the sun colored the sky in pinks and oranges, and only then did he pull off on the side of the road to sleep, pure emotional exhaustion allowing him to finally pass out. He drove all through the day and into the following night, pulling into Pontiac, Illinois just as the sun rose. Morning traffic slowed his progress, but he wasn't in a rush. His blood hummed in his ears, leaving him jittery, hand clenching and relaxing against the wheel, and his heart skipping against his ribs. 

There was no way he would rush this.

He pulled into a local convenience store just as an older gentleman shuffled up to unlock the door, his sweater-vest a festive reminder of the holidays sneaking up on the civilians. It was the kind of ma-and-pop-run business without security cameras. He shuffled through the aisles on legs like jelly, gathering ingredients and necessities for what he was about to do. 

Dean paused, staring at the large dog bone made from the femur of a bull, and he slipped it into the basket beside the can of black paint, lighter fluid, matches, a box of children's white chalk, and a fresh pack of batteries. 

He paid without meeting the woman's eyes. He threw the bags in the trunk and drove off, being careful to double check his rear view mirror as he backed out. 

When he arrived, the building looked smaller than he remembered, worn down and turning gray with weathered cracks in the wood. The barn looked like nothing special, certainly not a place that once held within its walls a being of the divine. The old paint had faded having peeled off over time or simply painted over with fresh graffiti. Dean walked into the space, pacing it, running his eyes along the walls and floor, coming to a stop and feeling as if he could still see the shadowy outline of wings spread out across the walls and ceiling, massive and overwhelming in its expression of just how powerful a creature stood in front of him. He remembered that night so clearly. The fear, the awe, the questions.

He fell to his knees more than knelt, hitting the dirt of the barn like maybe just one more prayer... 

The weight of the moment threatened to strangle him and leave him doubting this fleeting hope. With a sharp inhale and a nod, Dean bent forward and got to work, clearing a clean patch of earth, meticulously picking weeds, twigs, large rocks and tossing them away, smoothing the dirt with his hands, leveling it out. He stood and cracked the can of black paint open, pouring it on the dirt, taking his time, hands trembling as he carefully made a circle of the inky liquid. 

When a circle roughly four feet by four feet lay spread before him, Dean painstakingly ground the chalk to white dust, making certain it was fine and delicate to the touch. It took him nearly four hours using a folded piece of paper to guide the powdered chalk into symbols along the edge of the paint circle. 

Sitting back on his heels, back aching, stomach growling, and his knees having gone numb long after screaming in pain, Dean climbed to his feet, took the liter fluid and poured nearly half the bottle into the center of the paint, creating another smaller circle of the caustic stuff. 

Shouldering his bag, Dean inhaled slow and even, lit a match, and dropped it in the center. 

The fire rushed into the air nearly five feet high, burning hot and fierce in a wild dance that he felt against his skin. The fire settled, wiggling in the center of the paint, the symbols seeming to glow alongside the flames. 

His grip tightened on his bag, eyes closing, heart pounding, and he opened his mouth. The first few words shook off his tongue, small and trembling things that didn't sound like the man who fought for his freedom nearly half his life. He paused, cleared his throat, struggling against the words as they began to flow; and he winced, stopping, bowing his head, face hot with embarrassment. He felt the words, felt them thrumming in his veins, pushing to escape. He felt the words burn themselves into his soul, because this moment was just another fight for his life. If he couldn't do this, alone in a barn where they first met, he deserved to sit alone in a car for the rest of his life. 

Exhaling, long and slow, Dean Winchester closed his eyes, lips parting, and the words rang smooth and clear.

Dean Winchester sang. He sang till tears burned behind his eyes and threatened to undo him. He sang into the pain, leaning into the loss and desperation to color his words as his voice rose and filled the barn for any and all to hear. He sang with conviction and without mirth. All those bad karaoke nights—those were for laughs, that was to entertain his friends for a good time. This moment? Here in this barn filled with memories of the night they met; he sang to save his life. 

With all the power of the ballads he grew up with, the new, the old, every love song he ever gave a passing interest in and had bothered to learn, he sang the songs that devastated him with their raw honesty because they spoke to him of truths he had buried down so deep he thought himself unable to be loved. He sang to release. He sang to plead. To reveal. And he sang for the man who shattered all his walls and made him believe.

Dean Winchester sang till the ground split open before him and sank down into the bowels of the earth. 

Flicking on his flashlight, Fortuna’s coin gripped tight in his other hand, Dean shifted the bag on his shoulder and stepped inside. The stairs curled in a spiral at first, winding down into the darkness till Dean’s light struggled to pierce the darkness. Dean followed the winding path without hesitation, stepping over puddles of water, ducking past stalactites, and walking till he saw the gates rise up before him, massive and imposing. He didn’t knock, he didn’t speak, the gates opened to his approach, swinging wide and closing with a soft thud at his back. 

The throne room lacked personality, unless cold with obsidian glass walls and a marble throne said more than he understood about the man sitting before him. He was large for a man, not just tall, but broad with hands that looked like dinner plates. The man raised his chin, looking down his nose at him, his beard streaked with two perfect gray marks on either side of his mouth, and gray eyes hooded by bushy brows. The red tint to his gray robes brought the imagine of blood and death to mind. 

Dean approached, never looking back because this was his only chance. 

The doors to his right opened and a woman glided into the throne room, her golden hair pinned up in curls that ringed her shoulders, and her white dress of chiffon and silk trembled with every step. She smiled, lips red, eyes so blue as to remind him of pure lake water on a springtime afternoon. She joined the man upon his throne, her hand sliding along his shoulders, and she bent to kiss his cheek—and the man closed his eyes, leaning into her, his shoulders relaxing and his large hand touching her wrist as if gentling upon a butterfly’s wing. 

Watching the god of the underworld, Hades himself, soften from granite and steel, to a wistful and love-struck god; Dean saw himself in the transformation, a version of himself that could be. His fist tightened, and he raised his chin, swallowing hard, and focusing on the fading voice whispering words of love. 

“Your songs have touched my wife’s heart, mortal. If Fortuna had not named you Hero and Champion, I would have struck you down for daring to enter my domain.”

The woman smiled, “Hear him out, love. I think the mortal’s heart said it all.” Persephone, his wife, said, her voice higher pitched than expected, like wind chimes in a breeze.

Hades sighed, waving a hand in Dean’s direction. “What is it you ask of me?” Hades spoke, but his voice didn’t match his stature. It was deep, it fit his body, but the soft cadence, the patience of choosing each word made him feel as if everything he did was with careful precision. 

Dean took stock of the god, emotion threatening to undo everything as it welled within his chest. With a deep breath, Dean dropped to his knees, something he hadn’t done for angels, demons or God himself. Feeling lost, he closed his eyes, throat working, and his voice croaked, sore from singing, till the words tumbled from his lips. “I… need your help. I need Cass… I need to rescue Castiel from the Empty, and I want to make a deal for your help to bring him back to life.” He looked to the god of the underworld, pulse racing. 

The god frowned down at him, though he didn’t move, didn’t scoff, didn’t so much as roll his eyes. Hades simply stared at Dean with his wife’s hand upon his shoulder. 

“Please…” Dean whispered, eyes growing warm. “I’ll do anything. I just need him—” his voice broke and he bowed his head, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. 

“I am not a common demon who wields and trades in bargains.” 

Dean bit back his plea, looking to Hades, face twisting, “You are the only one who can do this for me. You have a back door to the Empty. You don’t have to follow the laws the Judeo-Christian God and the Empty agreed upon. I’ll fight for him. I’ll… I’ll stay here for him… just… please, I need him back.”

Hades shifted on his throne, his wife’s hand sliding away as she tilted her head. “I don’t make deals.” His voice hardened, and the throne room quivered at his voice.

Dean looked away, the first heat of a tear skipping down his cheek, burning his flesh. “You made this deal once, for Orpheus. I ask for the same deal.”

“You would travel down to the fields of the dead to seek your love? Swearing to never look back till you have reached the light of day on the surface in the world above?”

“I will. I’ll do it.”

Hades’ frown deepened, making the corners of his mouth disappear into the gray streaks of his beard. “This is a difficult request. The Empty is not of my lands and your lover is not mortal fair. This will entail more than simply walking with faith of his following.” 

Icy cold terror shot through Dean’s body at the words ‘lover.’ A title he hadn’t thought to associate with Castiel. A name he felt uncomfortable with even as he hoped and needed it to be. “I’ll do anything.” 

“I cannot do anything.”

“Except open the door.” Persephone said. 

Dean met the woman’s eyes, his chest tight and eyes burning. 

Hades frowned from his throne, studying Dean. “You are a Hero. I can see that. Fortuna has not been so generous these last centuries with granting her favor upon mortals. Perhaps…”

Persephone wrapped her arms around her husband’s shoulders, leaning her chin upon her hand and sighing. “I think he’s plenty strong enough, husband. His will burns bright. His conviction immovable. It will be his heart that will either carry him through this trial or break him.” 

Hade’s hummed, settling his large fingers over her small hand. “I agree.” 

Dean stumbled to his feet, nearly panting with eyes wide and pulse racing in his neck. 

With a wave of his hand and small smile from Persephone, a side door opened at the back of the throne room. Dean looked to the door, back to the gods, and then to the open door leading into the lamplight of eerie green. He shouldered his bag and pocketed Fortuna’s coin, knees shaking but his steps determined as he angled for the door. 

“Dean Winchester.” Hades said, stopping him short. 

Dean looked over his shoulder, back stiff, jaw set. 

Hades met his eyes, his arms wrapping around his wife as she moved his arms aside and perched herself upon his knee as if she did this everyday of her life. “He is an angel. What you ask, it will cost him. Are you willing to risk what he will lose?”

The revelation held his tongue, feeling like icy fingers took hold of his spine and jerked his ribs tight. “What cost?”

“That is not what I asked you.”

Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling above, and nodded. “I am.”

“Are you certain?”

“Will it… hurt him?”

Hades frowned, eyes patient. 

“Will he live?” 

“Yes.”

Dean nodded, mind spinning. “No catch? He won’t die in a year? Ten years? He won’t be whisked away for his happiness?” he forced out. 

“No catch. Once the price is paid, he’ll live all his long years by your side.”

“Then I’m willing to pay the price.” Dean said and turned, striding through the door.

  
//

  
The underworld dripped. Slime coated the stairs and made it hard to walk, whispers sprang up around him, and made him flinch when they hissed in his ears. The underworld grew cold and vacant, opening into a field as far as the eye could see with images of ghosts and shades walking the field endlessly, void of living life. Dean stepped foot upon the field, his boot sinking into the damp soil just enough he knew if he stood still for too long, the ground may suck his boots in. 

Off in the distance with withered, dry shrubs flanking either side, a door stood in the center of the field—or at least what Dean assumed was the center. He gripped his bag tight and made the trek to the gray stone arch, rusted and old, the stones covered in the brittle remains of dead moss clinging precariously from the rock. Iron nails were embedded in the arch, fashioned into the likeness of an iron gate tipped in filigree and chipping paint. It squeaked open the closer he got, a slow whine that made him want to reach for the salt. 

He felt the breathe of a beast on the back of his neck before he felt it approach, a sharp snort against his skin followed by a growl that curled his stomach. Pausing, throat bobbing, Dean turned and his eyes widened as he gazed up and up at the large three headed dog. 

Cerberus snarled, drool sliding down along the dog’s fangs, each of its heads glowered with ears pinned and lips curled. 

“Hey there, pal. I was really hoping I wouldn’t run into you.” Dean whispered, sliding his bag off his shoulder. Cerberus snarled, and Dean held still, eyes wide. Werewolves, demons, shifters—he hadn’t truly feared any of them. Fear was something he had mastered long ago and relegated it to focus on Sam so the kid might grow up to have some form of life. But, staring at a dog that could swallow him in one bite, Dean found himself remembering the clammy wash of fear and how it felt as it settled in his gut. 

“So, I’m starting to think this isn’t big enough. Hopefully you won’t care too much and decide I’m a really great guy for giving you this.” The zipper on his bag growled open, and Cerberus’ hackles rose, it’s snouts wrinkling and drool dripping. Reaching inside, Dean pulled the dog bone out, hefting the femur like a club. 

One of Cerberus’ heads barked, the other cocked it’s head, and the other leaned in and sniffed the bone. Suddenly the heads whined as the head sniffing tried to take it, tail wagging, just to have another head yip and reach for the bone. 

Dropping the bone, Dean took a slow step backward, pulling the bag over his shoulder, watching the beast as its heads seemed to be arguing over what to do with the smelly cow leg and who would get it first. 

Dean felt the door at his back and turned, opening the gate with a rattling squeak as he stepped inside. 

The air temperature dropped and he splashed into an inch of water. He glanced around at the vast blank landscape around him, brow furrowing. He turned back to the doorway, a literal beacon of light compared to the blank nothingness around him, and Dean inhaled and started walking.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and nothing. The world just seemed to circle in on itself, endlessly looping back. The door behind him never seemed to grow smaller, and Dean drew to a stop, anger welling up. This was a joke. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Hades. All gods were dicks out to toy with mortals, determined to play with them like poseable action figures. Dropping his head and rubbing his brow, trying so hard to calm himself, to think this through, Dean stared down into the water around him, and saw flickers of light. 

Jerking his eyes up to the ceiling where only endless blackness hung in the air, Dean looked back to the ground and the lights beneath his feet sparkled like stars. He began walking again, eyes down, each step he took disturbed the water, making it ripple and reveal more beneath it. 

Reaching down, he tapped the water, and a light below flickered, rising like a ghost from the water, a woman with a stab wound to her chest and black eyes. He tapped another and a man stood broad chest, chin held high, and dressed in a tailored suit with wings unfurled. When he refused to touch the shades, they drifted back down into the water, melting like ice. 

Desperation took hold, pumping adrenaline through him. Dean dropped to his hands and knees, slapping the water, chasing the lights, revealing creature after creature, each never who he needed, who he was here for. After an hour of crawling through the water, rejecting angel after angel, Dean growled, neck feeling hot, Dean sat back on his heels, the cry he withheld for so long burst from his lungs in the plea it was. _“Cass!”_ He bellowed, and smashed his hands down into the water. 

  
//

  
_Thump_.

Castiel’s eyes opened, shivering as the Empty stood on his throat, holding him still. 

_Thump_. 

A pounding sound echoed through the nothingness, and Castiel realized it was what drew his mind back to the here and now, no longer locked in the miserable loop he relived that the Empty had created for him. 

_Thump-thump._

It came again; a roar following. 

The Empty scowled at the noise, hands over its ears. 

_“Cass!”_

_Thump_.

Castiel turned his head, emotion welling up inside. He knew that voice. He would never forget that gruff voice that rumbled his name with affection during good times, and whispered it during the best. 

_“Cass!”_ and the nothingness shook, like a door being knocked on and the glass shaking in its frame. 

_Thump!_

“You are mine.” The Empty hissed. 

_Thump!_

Castiel shook at the next knock, and that thing deep inside him, that crack that never allowed him to just accept what was expected of him, opened wide and a rush of energy flooded his limbs. “I’ll decide that for myself.” Castiel grabbed the Empty’s leg and twisted, knocking the supreme being off balance and it hit the ground. Castiel rolled to his feet and ran, head spinning and heart skipping in his chest. 

_Thump-thump, thump._

He followed the trembling knocks, running even past when he felt like he needed air—which he didn’t. He ran to stay ahead of the Empty, he ran toward that voice, toward the man who changed him so irrevocably that he had become the first angel to ever learn to love in the way of mortals. He ran toward the man he had fallen in love with and whom he would do anything for… and had. 

“You are mine!” The Empty cried after him, its voice coming from all directions. 

_Thump!_

“No, I’m not.” Castiel husked, slowing as he stared up at the brilliant soul he would recognize anywhere hovering above him like a sun in the darkness. “I swore myself to Dean Winchester long before I ever knew you.” And he smiled as that soul flared with light, a ripple expanding around Dean’s soul, reaching for him, whispering to him, and Castiel felt Dean Wincher’s touch upon his grace. 

He sighed into Dean Winchester’s soul. 

The Empty latched onto his arm, yanking him backward, and Castiel grunted, struggling, fighting the Empty, reaching for the soul above him, hand outstretched and wings flapping hard to keep him at Dean’s side. For even in death, Castiel could never leave Dean Winchester’s side.

  
//

  
Castiel’s shade rose from the water, reaching for him, frozen in time in a pose of movement and fight. Dean stumbled to his feet, reaching for him, and his shade pulled back, beginning to drip and melt back into the black water below. 

“Cass!” Dean shouted, grabbing his arm and he fell to his knees, his arm sinking into the water and past whatever constituted the ground. Dean growled and slapped his hand down in the water, the hand holding onto Cass dug his finger into Castiel’s shade, gripping him so tight Dean thought his arm might rip off. 

“Don’t you give up on me.” Dean snarled, teeth grinding, grunting as he pulled and with a roar, so loud and guttural it deafened him, Dean pulled, and he pulled Cass toward him, one inch at a time. He didn’t know how long he gripped his arm, he didn’t know how long he struggled, but what Dean did know, he would never let go. Not when he was this close. 

Memories, flashes of everything they lived through, survived, died through… He knew what it was like to feel Cass slip through is fingers in Purgatory. He knew what it was like to see him laying in the sand, dead and gone. He knew how he had hurt afterward, and he knew how he felt now, barely holding on as the threads unraveled around him. He wouldn’t live like that. He couldn’t. 

Dean didn’t let go.

He roared again, rearing back, pulling with everything he had and then asked of himself for more. Tears slid down his cheeks as he fought, and he prayed. He prayed to the only being who ever believed in him, the only person who had been there for him at his darkest and lowest no matter the words shouted in rage, and he prayed to the only man who had always returned to him no matter what.

“This is not your time.” Dean snarled and reared back, and from the water, Castiel’s arm appeared, still a shade, a ghostly image compared to his solid form, but Dean knew how this worked, he hadn’t left anything to chance. He held onto Cass, clawing at the ground with his free hand to find leverage, dragging him from the depths of the Empty inch-by-inch, bolstering himself as his bowed head slid from the water. Dean dragged him through time and space and death itself because he would never left go.

The water bubbled around him, jumping and trembling, and Dean saw, past Cass’ arm, the Empty writhing below like boiling tar, its hold on Cass strong and tireless.

But he was a goddamn Winchester. 

“You. Can’t. Have. Him.” Dean hissed, and asked even more of himself, drawing on some unknown well of strength and stubborn son of a bitch. He screamed, finding his footing and he pulled Cass toward him, dragging him from the inky blackness below till he stumbled backward, grip lost, and he fell, eyes wide and never leaving Castiel’s face.

Dean hit the water, panting, shaking, his muscles screaming in weariness, and Dean swallowed a sob, gazing up at Catiel’s shade, hovering before him without expression or comprehension. 

He stood and wiped his cheeks, heart hammering. 

Then the ground trembled below him and a loud crack filled the room, like shattering glass as the water trembled at their feet. But Dean never removed his eyes from Cass, swallowing hard, scared, knowing this was the hardest part. 

He had to believe.

“Stay close. Follow me.” And Dean closed his eyes, turned around, and walked away. 

A boom thundered and a crack in the floor opened up below his feet, inky tendrils sluggishly crawling toward them. Dean ran. He kept his eyes on the doorway, wanting nothing more than to reach back and drag Cass after him, push him ahead of him to make sure he would get out…. But he couldn’t. It would break the arrangement. 

Dean leapt over an opening rift in the floor, but he kept running and burst out onto the fields, startling Cerberus from gnawing on the bone, each head having compromised on each it in turns. Dean didn’t stop, he ran, and the dog howled behind him, bounding after him. 

Dean stumbled in the sucking landscape of the field. He grit his teeth, eyes straight ahead, heart hammering. Instinct told him to turn around and see if the Empty or Cerberus was behind him. But if he turned, Cass would be lost. 

Tripping over the weeds and dead grass, Dean jumped to the walkway, and scrambled across the stones, hearing the panting dog behind him, as well as the snarls from one, and the whining from another. Dean slipped on the slime, arms pinwheeling, but he never stopped moving. He hit the archway of the stairs and took them two at a time, and Cerberus howled behind him, one head shoving its snout through the arch toward him and snapping its teeth. 

Dean only slowed when he couldn’t feel the breath of the dog’s nasty breath move the hair on the back of his neck. 

He bent forward, panting, eyes closed, keeping his head forward, because he had to trust Cass was right behind him. Doubt curled in his belly like a whisper. What if running had left Cass behind? What if Cerberus had snatched him up, trying to do his job and keep the dead in the underworld. Dean punched a fist down on his leg, forcing himself to focus, to remember the lore, to remember the failure of Orpheus. 

Sniffing and straightening up, Dean swallowed hard, nodded, and began to walk, keeping his steps measured and his hand on the wall as he spiraled upward and back to the throne room. The door opened to him, and the two gods watched his return, faces emotionless and their eyes only on him. The doubt curled in his gut once more. 

Faith. 

So, ironic that here he was, Dean Winchester, the man who believed in no one but himself and his family, had to have faith that Hades was keeping his end of the deal. Dean walked through the throne room, his steps heavy and head held high. The doors of the throne room groaned open and he passed through, back out into the blackness beyond. 

Though he left his bag back in the underworld, Dean had at least been smart enough to pocket his flashlight. He flicked it on and began his hike up, tripping over the rocks, traipsing around stalagmites, and ducking the low outcroppings. 

The trek back up to the surface seemed like it took forever. There was nothing in the world that seemed to take as long as this journey. The longer he walked, the more he doubted Hades was a god of his word…

He wanted to look back, to even just check that that trench coat was swaying along behind him…. 

Dean stopped, taking a breath, closing his eyes. He just had to keep going. 

Maybe Hades wasn’t a god of his word, but Cass was. Cass had sworn to stay by his side, even when the Mark of Cain had taken hold, leaving him bitter and blood thirty, Cass had stood before him, telling him the truth, that if he kept the Mark, that hundreds of years could pass and his family would be dead, but Cass would still remain. Cass wouldn’t leave him at his worst, why would he leave now?

Breathing deep, bolstering himself, Dean pushed onward, climbing back to the surface. Light trickled in around him at one point, a faint, white haze that grew. Moving air hit his face, and Dean could smell the paint fumes and lingering scent of the burnt liter fuel. 

Dean’s stomach knotted, his heart jumping and he felt as if he might trip, he might fall to his knees before he ever left the entrance to the underworld. He was afraid he may exit and turn too quickly before Cass was free. 

What if it was night? Shit… would he have to stand out in the dark, waiting for sunrise? Panic took him and Dean swore, taking the spiraling stairs, doing everything he could to stare up at the entrance and not look back or to the side. He was right there. He had to believe Cass was right there with him.

He stepped out of the hole in the ground, his legs turning to mush in an instant. He stumbled, forcing himself to keep walking, to get as far away from the portal as possible. He threw the doors of the barn open, gasping in a breath of air, the fading sunset on his skin; and his legs collapsed. 

Dean hit his knees and bowed his head, hands shaking, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t look. Tears burned hot and fast down his cheeks, his stomach hurt like a mother, and he couldn’t look, he just couldn’t bring himself to turn around and see Cass not there. He didn’t have the courage to admit that if he did all this for nothing when it was his only hope... 

He choked and his face twisted, a tear dripping off his nose, the rest running down his neck and soaking into his shirt. 

If he failed, that was it for him. There wasn’t any reason to go on—

The gravel crunched behind him, and Dean stiffened, teeth clenched, panting through his teeth, and he shook his head, waited—for the blow, for the knife, for the fangs, for the claws—whatever it was, at least Sam would think he went down in a hunt instead of like a sobbing coward. 

The shuffle of feet walked around him, stopping in front of him, blocking the setting sun and leaving his skin suddenly cold. Dean lifted his face, eyes open, and he choked on his moan. Before him, the dark clouds lined by golden light from the sun, the hues of the evening sky stretching in endless blues and violets and tipped in reds and oranges, like wings stretching across the world, Castiel gazed down at him with his head tilted and soft smile on his lips. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s face twisted and he sobbed, reaching a hand out, taking hold of the edge of his trench coat, holding onto him, staring up at him, unable to turn away, not wanting too. 

Castiel.

Castiel reached down, setting his hand on his shoulder, and Dean grabbed his arm, feeling the bone and muscle beneath, feeling how solid and whole he felt. Dean felt like a blubbering mess, but this was too much, everything welling up and punching him in the gut. 

The angel dropped to his knees in front of him, tilting his head, gazing upon him with eyes so blue it made his heart skip. Cass with that soft expression, with that concerned furrow to his brow at Dean had come to know and expect from the angel. He just hadn’t dared think that behind those blue eyes, behind that confused head tilt sat an unquestioning love for him. 

He hadn’t thought Cass could ever feel such an emotion, let alone toward him and mean it in all the ways Dean hadn’t dared hope. 

“Dean, you saved me.”

Dean sniffed and reached for him, gripping his bicep. Cass winced at the touch and Dean pulled his hand back, mind flooding with thoughts of curses and that was the cost—he would never to able to touch Cass again. 

“It’s fine, Dean. It’s just a bruise. You gripped me tight when you pulled me from the Empty.” 

The laugh that left him felt watery and unbelieving, and he stared at him, losing himself in the fact this was real, this wasn’t a dream. “Cass.” He whispered. 

“I’m here, Dean.”

Dean jerked him close and pulled him into a hug, eyes squeezed shut and gasping for a breath. He hugged him tight, fingers gripping the back of his coat, fingers curling in the back of his hair, and he hugged him long after the sun went down and his tears dried up. He held him close and couldn’t bring himself to let him go.

“Cass…” He licked his lower lip, pulling back enough to look him in the eye, their faces far too close, their foreheads warming with the faintest of brushes. His breath hitched, staggering in his lungs, as his throat bobbed. “I… uh… I…”

“Dean, I know.” Cass said, a small smile on his face.

Dean stared back, his brain shutting down for a split second, before he laughed, “Did you just Han Solo me?”

“Yes.” And Castiel truly smiled—a real smile. The type of smile that wrinkled his nose, showed off his gums, and changed his face into pure joy with laugh lines that proved just how happy he was to be alive. 

Dean basked in it. He swallowed, eyes dropping…

Then Castiel’s stomach growled. 

Dean blinked and pulled back, one hand still gripping his shoulder. “What the…”

Cass looked down at himself in surprised, a hand pressing to his stomach. He glanced around himself, focusing on the world around him, before he paused on his hand, considering it. “Oh.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I’m... Human. Well, more human than angel. But I’m mortal.”

Dean’s brain short circuited. “But…” 

Castiel sat back on his heels, touching his chest and arms, looking to Dean then back to himself, head tilting to the side, brows furrowed and looking more like a confused puppy than an angel. “I don’t know. But I’m alive.”

Dean nodded, staring at him. He didn’t know if he could stop looking at him. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Cass stared at him, fingers gripping his arm, and Dean swallowed hard, his heart picking up speed. 

“Can I stay in the bunker this time? I don’t want to work in a convenience store again.”

Dean felt a smile crawl over his face. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

Cass smiled, beautiful and whole, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. 

  
//

  
It was nearly a month later before Dean and Cass learned what really happened that day. When Dean pulled Cass from the Empty, the price Castiel had to pay in order to break a contract and leave the Empty’s realm was to no longer be a celestial being bound to the Empty’s influence. 

But it also had a little to do with Jack. 

After all, souls were far more beautiful than perfect heavenly beings; and Castiel had been the first of the angels to change, to grow, and to love. 

It was simple really; Castiel’s grace had been sacrificed in exchange for a soul. A soul tied to Dean’s so fully that Castiel’s death would follow Dean’s, as well as his soul would follow Dean’s to heaven. A bond so profound it could never be broken.

Just as it should be. 

  
//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm NOT OKAY. I've actually cried already while waiting for this series finale. I'm so much more emotional than I was expecting. I knew I would cry, but I thought it would be DURING the show, not four hours before I would be able to watch it. I just hope it ends well.
> 
> I will say; that despite not quite meeting my personal challenge of writing an entire story in 4 days... I'm AMAZED at how fast I cranked this out. I usually take my time, really word-smithing it; and I do feel embarrassed re-reading the middle work because I couldn't tweak it, couldn't cut down my rambling, couldn't finesse it and really massage the story into something fine-tuned. But.... but... I wrote nearly 40,000 words in 4 days. I actually find that absolutely amazing. Again... Supernatural. Always finding ways to surprise me, even with a personal challenge.
> 
> I also realized that even with how bad episode 19 was, the show really wrote itself into a corner. There was no other possible story ending for that arc, and though (as my rewrite showed) I was expecting Chuck to end up the Darkness and Jack the Light thus to balance out the power dynamic because Chuck had changed his views on creation and wanted only destruction..... I do understand what the show did now and I feel a little more at peace. Still sucks it wasn't an epic show-down battle royal..... but I feel better about it and that's really all this exorcise was meant to do for me.
> 
> I just.... i hope 20 will be the ending both the show, the boys, and us fans deserve. That's a tall order, I know. But I need it... (I'll post a little 'update' after I've seen the episode, probably post it in the second chapter after I finish it up.)
> 
> Again, Sorry with how CRAPPY the writing in this is. the first half of the first half at least got read-through a second time, but the last half, I literally decided 5 minutes ago to just go ahead and post it before I saw the finale so I couldn't change anything. This is just raw me at the keyboard... crying because I want this so badly. How it happens I don't care... but this was my version of Destiel being alive, well, and falling in love. Slow burn man. But we've had 12 years of it, right? it's about time. (gah, I hope...)
> 
> But I do love this chapter. There was just something about Orpheus and Dean that really stuck with me and the parallels... I also wanted this story to bring Dean and Cass' story full circle by having Dean being the one to "grip Castiel tight and raise him from the Empty." I LOVE it when stories circle back on themselves.. and this opportunity just seemed too perfect. Between Dean pulling him out, going back to the barn, going back to where it started; taking his time to track this man down.... ..... there is this give and take in any relationship; and it's important. Cass always gave to Dean.. but Dean is also a giver, its just a matter of him admitting how important a person is to him before he gives them everything he has. He's all in. He doesn't go in halves. He just has to know it's reciprocated.... and that's why Dean's reaction in 18 KILLED ME because I knew what he was thinking. He wasn't an emotionless statue, he was shell shocked someone he cared for, cared even more about him...... almost like Cass was finally giving him permission to love him entirely. yeah... circling back around.
> 
> ALSO... the singing. Orpheus sang his grief after Eurydice died and thus Hade's allowed him the chance to bring her back to life so long as he never looked back... and since Jensen Ackles has an amazing voice, this idea that Dean loves bad karaoke because he can make people laugh seemed funny to me, and yet Dean being able to really sing? I love that he would hide that from the world. I didn't pick any particular songs for him to sing because I wanted anyone to be able to have him singing their favorite love songs..... but Lord Huron's "Night We Met" definitely was playing in my mind as I wrote it.
> 
> All right. well.... I hope you all like it so far. I'll post the second half as soon as I finish it. It's pretty close actually. Dean just started kissing Cass.
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel


	2. In Amorem Incideris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m scared this is a dream and you’ll disappear if I look away.” 

“Well, home sweet home; if mom owned a diner.” Dean told him, pulling the car into a parking spot of a Home Style Cooking diner. It was small, it had flannel drapes in the windows, and it advertised they had pie. Cass looked up at the building, leaning forward to try and see the roof, because that's what he's seen other humans do, and concern with checking the structural soundness of the roof seemed practical. 

They had driven most of the night, pulling off to rest at a truck stop around midnight, Cas slept on the backseat, curled up with a furrow between his eyes as he tried to sleep, and Dean slept propped int the front, staring at him from over the back of the seat till he finally nodded off. They slept for a few hours before pushing on once dawn broke. 

It was an odd sensation to need sleep once again; and when Castiel woke and needed to urinate, he scowled as once again such bodily functions would be required of him. 

But now, knowing he would get a chance to watch Dean eat pie, that he now would be able to eat peanut butter and jelly once again without tasting the molecules, and he would be able to do such things as "have sex," Castiel reminded himself there were just as many great and wondrous aspects being human offered him alongside the annoyances. 

Castiel hummed, looking at Dean as the man turned the car off and they were plunged into silence. Dean glanced at him, lips parted, ears turning a soft pink, and then his eyes darted away and he shifted in his seat, rubbing his thighs.

“We should, uh… head inside.” 

“All right.” He nodded, a simple up and down motion, but he didn’t move and neither did Dean. If anything, Dean looked as if he didn’t want to leave; almost like he was afraid of going into the building. 

Castiel glanced back at the building, wondering if there was some monster he hadn't noticed that Dean had. He was a much better hunter than he was, and though Castiel privately considered himself the better warrior (seeing as how he had once commanded a garrison of angels in laying siege of Hell), he did defer to Dean when it came to earthly matters. His hand rested in the space between them, his eyes scanning the building slowly, "Though, it does appear far too appealing. It may be a trap."

He snorted and Cass looked to Dean, watching a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. Castiel considered the situation, tilting his head, pondering. Though he had lived as a human for several months at several different points in over the past decade of knowing the Winchesters, he was still new to most sensations. So, when Dean inhaled, staring at the space between them, and reached for his hand, settling it over his, Castiel studied Dean, in awe of this man who experienced emotions like a comet in his soul. He would jump headlong into battle with no regard for his own safety, so long as his family was safe, but allowing himself a small touch like this, that comet dragged him across the breadth of his being and left him quiet and nervous. Dean’s hand twitched atop his, and his shoulder tensed as if he was going to pull away, but with a slow exhale, he didn’t. Castiel watched as Dean forced himself to stay still, to stare at their hands, to raise his green eyes and catch his. He watched as Dean tried to find his voice, but failed and licked his lips instead. 

He always found that motion alluring. As an angel, he didn’t understand why. As a human, it did things that made him feel warm and a bit desperate to taste that lip as well.

“I’m happy that you came for me.” Castiel said, dropping his eyes to their hands, feeling Dean’s fingers twitch over his, how the calloused pads of his fingers eased down between his long fingers, make his flesh tingle. Dean slipped into the gaps like he belonged there, while his thumb brushing along the side of his pinky. Dean tightened his grip and held his hand, and Castiel very much liked the feeling. Dean held his fingers with a shaky breath rushing from his lungs, and Castiel sighed, a smile playing across his lips. 

“I didn’t know what to do… after you….” Dean swallowed, and the look on his face reminded him of a time long ago when the righteous man lay in a hospital and didn’t know what to do then either. Dean Winchester wasn’t a man who sat back and waited for things to happen to him, he was a doer, a man who stormed the castle to do what was right; except when it involved him opening his heart up and risking it being torn asunder. 

Castiel gazed upon him and wanted nothing more than to assure this man everything would be all right. So, he squeezed his fingers, and Dean’s eyes met his, a little scared, a lot hopeful, and Castiel slid across the bucket seat, just to sit a little closer. Dean’s eyes grew wide, throat bobbing, and Castiel ignored the long-ago insistence for personal space. 

“Dean, I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

He shook his head. 

“Then we should find a drive-thru and eat because I’m very hungry, but I won’t go inside without you.”

The smirk and soft chuckle warmed Castiel’s heart. He smiled, Dean relaxed, and with a nod, Dean opened his door, stepping out, but Castile’s fingers remained laced with his because he wasn’t ready to let him go. He crawled out of the car through the driver’s side, and got to watch Dean turn red along his cheeks and neck. 

“Cass…”

“Was that not appropriate? This will take some getting used to.” He sighed, but Dean leaned closer and pulled him into a hug, and Castiel hummed, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist and enjoying the little puffs of breath against his neck. 

“Sometimes I forget how unreal you are.”

“I’m very real, Dean. I have the bruise to prove it.”

Dean choked and leaned back, eyes wide with a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. Castiel smiled in return, said bruise throbbing on his bicep where Dean had gripped him tight. It made him happy. It made his pants a little tight. 

“Oh.” He said, glancing down between them. “That could be inconvenient.” 

“What?” Dean started then choked on his tongue the second he looked down.

Castiel frowned. “Human bodies are so volatile.”

The red grew along Dean’s cheeks till his freckles stood out, “Well, buddy, as flattering as that is, you need to get that under control so we can be out in public.” He cleared his throat and took hold of his trench coat, pulling it around him, effectively wrapping him up in it so it covered his crotch. 

“Agreed. I should think about Sam then. Perhaps cooking, naked.”

The horror on Dean’s face was more than worth it. 

  
//

  
They ate and Castiel was pleasantly surprised to find he liked cherry pie. It wasn’t the kind of pie that he would get from the Gas-n-Sip which tasted like watered down sugar and fruit. No. This pie had a tang to it, a fresh, juicy taste to its cherries and the filling was perfectly balanced to compliment the tart with the sweet. He nearly moaned. Dean did moan. 

They got a motel instead of napping in the car. They shuffled into the room, the twin queens taking up most of the space. Dean chose the bed closest to the door, and Castiel pulled his trench coat off, followed by the suit jacket. He caught Dean staring, gripping the back of the chair at the dinette table. He looked nervous. Almost as if he was expecting something to happen but terrified of it. 

Castiel frowned, thinking it over. He couldn’t understand what Dean was scared of. Then an idea formed. “Do you have some clothes I can borrow?”

Dean blinked and snapped out of it, looking to his bag on the bed. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He rummaged through it and pulled out a little of everything he would need, even taking a second to smell the shirt only to rummage around to find another that passed his smell test. “Here.” He handed the clothes and his toiletries bag to him, jaw tight. 

“Thank you. I’m going to take a shower. I do remember enjoying them.” He said and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

That should help, Castiel thought with a thin smile in satisfaction. No need to make Dean think he was required to entertain him. He stripped and climbed into the shower. The water pressure sucked, but the warmth and steady rhythm soothed his mind and relaxed him completely. He washed, taking his time to remember all the basic hygienic needs a human body required. 

When he stepped out, he found Dean awkwardly standing in the center of the room, more on edge than when he left. He frowned, tilting his head, taking in Dean’s stiff back and shoulders, the way his hands were clenching and releasing, his eyes a little wild. 

“Dean.”

The man jerked his eyes to his, throat bobbing. 

“Go take a shower. It will help.”

He didn’t move at first, just staring at him, breathing a little too fast for someone supposedly relaxing in a motel room. 

“Go.” 

Dean dug through his bag to find his own sleep clothes and disappeared, his shoulder brushing his. 

Castiel frowned at the closed door, brow furrowing. Dean was distraught, that much he could tell. He tilted his head, wishing he knew what to do. He contemplated barging into the bathroom and demanding what was wrong—and as an angel he wouldn’t have felt uneasy by such a prospect. But he did and couldn’t understand why now was different from before. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Dean was out of the shower in less than three minutes, his eyes locking on him then darting around the room before looking back to him. 

Castiel considered him, the way his shirt was partially rucked up along his back where it had stuck to his still damp flesh, the way drops of water clung to his hair—a little bit of shampoo sat on the tip of his ear. Castiel stood, took the towel Dean held clenched in his hands. Castiel gently wiped the shampoo away, and dried Dean's hair with efficient scrubs across his scalp, then he eased his shirt down in the back, and he felt Dean stare the entire time. 

The closeness was palpable, the quiet of the room, their breaths lingering between them. And Castiel wondered if this had anything to do with what happened earlier. He lost himself in the green and earnest gaze, and didn’t know how to interpret the hitch in Dean’s breaths. 

“Bed?” he offered, his chest tightening, stomach fluttering, anticipation welling up--of what, he wasn't certain. He just knew the prospect of seeing Dean Winchester lying in bed made him hopeful. 

Dean nodded, stilted, the pulse in his throat fluttering. Castiel wanted to reach up and touch it. Maybe even taste it. He wondered at that thought. 

But when the lights flicked off, he was alone in his bed and Dean in his. He shouldn’t be disappointed, Castiel chastised himself. But maybe he was? Shifting he rolled to his side, back to the other bed. He needed to sleep. The process had always been difficult for him. 

Castiel supposed he had dozed off at some point, waking to the sensation of eyes on the back of his neck. He rolled over, propping himself up on an elbow, and met Dean’s eyes, his silhouette shadowed by the lights filtering in through the curtains. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t turn away, he didn’t make an excuse for what he was doing as Cass half expected he might. Dean sat there, his brow scrunched in the middle of his forehead, and his hands seemingly shaking between his knees. Castiel didn’t know if he could breathe when he met Dean’s haunted eyes. 

“I can’t sleep.” Dean rushed to say, but Castiel could see just how tired he really was, the heaviness in his eyelids, the way he practically was holding himself up. He sat up slowly, considering him for some time.

Castiel reached a hand out, settling his long fingers along the curve of Dean’s wrist. “Do you want me to—”

Dean fell forward, practically burying his face against Castiel’s neck. He inhaled sharply, finding himself pushed down into the bed, Dean wrapping his arms around him, pulling him tight to his body; a sob shaking him. 

Castiel lay still as Dean hugged him, his tears sliding down along his neck. He didn’t have a frame of reference for this. He didn’t know how one reacted to Dean Winchester crying against them. Castiel closed his eyes, asking himself what he wanted to do, and with his heart skipping a beat, he shifted, turning to face Dean, and he wrapped his arms around him in return, his fingers sliding into his hair and holding him close. 

“We’re safe, Dean.”

But Dean’s chest shook against his, his strong arms tightening around him. It was more than safety, Castiel realized. It was something else. Something that made him cling to him, made him gasp in breaths against his collarbone, and it was something that made him cry. 

“I’m scared this is a dream and you’ll disappear if I look away.” 

“Oh.” Castiel said, and he raked his fingers through the man's hair, uncertain what to say except what he knew. “This isn’t a dream. I’m here, and there is nowhere I wish to go except where you go.” There. The simple truth of it all. 

Dean pulled his face from his neck, his arms still just as tight around him, but he met his gaze, so close, eyes wet and shining in the faint light of the street lamps outside. Then Dean pressed his brow to his, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

Castiel sighed and pressed a hand to his prickly jaw, wiping away the wetness there with the tips of his fingers. “Go to sleep, Dean. I’m here.”

It didn’t necessarily fix anything, he still felt Dean jerk himself awake to check on him throughout the night, but Dean did sleep in short spurts, his face pressed to his shoulder, to the back of his neck, his arms around his waist and shoulders, wrapping himself around him so completely, Castiel kicked the covers off because he was too warm. They slept late into the morning, scrambling to get dressed and out the door before checkout. 

But it was seeing the hint of ease in Dean’s shoulders when he looked at him the next morning, the way he didn’t seem as terrified he would disappear at any moment that made Castiel take his hand as he drove them home. He held his hand, listening to his cassette tapes, humming along because he knew which songs were Dean’s favorites, and he didn’t feel as silly as he thought he would when he slouched in the seat when he felt drowsy, only to have Dean tug him closer and allow him to use his shoulder to doze. 

He hummed, and felt love warm him; the same feeling of happiness before he was taken. If he gripped Dean’s hand a little tighter, Dean didn’t need to know why. 

  
//

  
Dean grunted and took a moment to stretch after exiting the car, his butt numb after so many hours behind the wheel. He was used to it, sure, but damnit, it seemed like it was getting harder and harder to do after hitting the other side of forty. He drove to Eileen’s house, figured he’d get it over with and tell Sam what happened before they got to go home and sleep in their own beds. 

What he wasn’t expecting was Sam’s bull-charge out the front door, eyes hard and on fire, barking at him as he jumped from the porch. Eileen stepped out after him, looking relieved to see him, even as she threw her hands up in the air and shook her head after Sam. 

“What the hell, Dean? You disappear for days on end, don’t answer your phone, your cell turned off, and then you just show back up with a grin?” He got in his face and Dean thumped back against the door of the Impala, brows high and mouth slack. 

“Hiya to you too, Sammy.”

“I thought you…” Sam stopped, jaw tight, his brows doing that scrunchy thing they did when he was really pissed off, but Dean realized what Sam was trying to say, the fear that sat beneath the fury. 

Shit. Sam thought he drove off and offed himself.

“I’m fine.” He said, voice a little softer than usual. 

“What the hell? Where did you go? Where have you been? I was worried, Dean. You couldn’t have even called me back?”

“I turned the cells off.” He said, “I had something I was doing…” and the passenger door of the Impala creaked opened, shaking the car as the door shut, Sam's eyes widened. 

“It’s good to see you, Sam.”

He watched Sam’s face shift from fury, to confusion, to disbelief, and then back to horror. He grabbed Dean’s coat, and shoved him back against the car, his voice a roar in his ears. “What did you do, Dean?” He pulled him back and shoved him back against Baby, a tremble to his voice. 

Dean closed his eyes, his breath rattling out of him. “I got him out. What’s it look like?”

“How? We promised, no more deals, no more lies.”

Cass was suddenly just there—for a human, he sure moved quiet—and Dean watched as Cass settled his hand over Sam’s, his mouth turned down into a frown, head tilted. “It was no deal. His soul is safe, Sam. Hades’ arrangement was very simple and—”

“Hades? You made a deal with a god? What the hell, Dean?”

They were getting nowhere and Dean narrowed his eyes, pushing himself up to his full height. “Everything is fine. Just drop it.”

“You could have told me. I should have been there, I—”

“I had to do it alone, Sammy!” Dean roared, his face feeling flushed. His nostrils flared as he panted, glancing to the side then down, brow knotting up. His throat tightened, reminding him just how much this still felt unreal. Like Cass was going to get yanked away from him any second for some cosmic joke. “If you had been there, I don’t think I could have been honest with myself and the spell would have failed.” his voice grew louder and he felt like he was trembling.

His brother huffed; mouth open, ready to argue. "This was so stupid of you--"

Hissing, Dean shoved his hand into his pocket and ripped the paper with the spell instructions out of his pocket, the underlined instructions, the reminder to sing his feelings, the reminder to have faith. He felt his face flush and he looked away, thrusting it against Sam’s chest and pushing him away all in the same move. “Let’s go, Cass.” he said, yanking Baby’s door open. 

“Dean,” Cass sighed, arms spread, forever the peacemaker—but with a glance back to Sam as if in apology, Cass rounded the car and climbed back in. 

Dean took off and they drove in silence for several miles, winding their way out of town and up into the foothills where the bunker was located. 

“He was worried.” 

“Whose side are you on?” Dean snapped, that familiar anger welling up inside his chest. 

Castiel glared at him in such a way that stated in no uncertain terms he was done with his shit. 

He tightened his grip on the wheel, forcing himself to slow the Impala down because he wasn’t willing to risk an accident while angry. “I just thought—”

“That he would understand. I know, Dean.” Cass reached across the seat, laying a hand on his shoulder. The move surprising him as well as settling him. “You scared him, and you Winchesters have a short fuse when it comes to family. By the time he arrives back at the bunker, he’ll have calmed down and you’ll know what to say to him.”

Dean blinked his eyes several time, focusing on the twisting road he had memorized these last couple years. “Right.” He agreed, though he still half expected Sam to lash out at him for doing the exact opposite of what they had agreed on. They slipped back into silence, and just having Cass there at his side made everything feel real, like everything was right once again. By the time they pulled into the garage, Dean didn’t feel like punching anything. He breathed slow and deep, and they climbed out of the car, unpacking, following Cass inside because he still needed to see him, to be certain he wasn't dreaming. 

They settled in, falling into old rhythms, except Dean followed Cass from room to room or kept an eye on him at all times, his heart skipping for the minute or three when he did leave the room. They cooked dinner and this time he made enough for two and not just himself. They discussed what had happened during the fight with Chuck, learning from Castiel’s point of view what happened from within the Empty, how the angels had awakened long before Michael arrived, how the Empty had held onto him and refused to let him leave. Dean leaned in close, whiskey glass in hand, fascinated, and he in return explained about Daphne and what little he did understand about what Jack had done. The smile on Cass’ face said it all; he was proud of the kid, but missed him. 

“Hey, I bet if you prey to him, he’ll show up.” Dean said, sipping his drink—sipping because he didn’t want to lose sight of Cass, sipping because he still needed the alcoholic buzz to leave him warm and lethargic, encouraging him to smile a little more freely, to lean in close, voice dipping soft and inviting. And Castiel’s eyes were just as dark with the effects of his single beer. 

Who knew he could find a lightweight so sexy?

“I’ll do that. Thank you.” Castiel reached for his hand, and Dean was beginning to find those long fingers more than a little alluring. 

“Any plans for tomorrow? Being human and all, and no apocalypse in sight, we might have to be prepared to be civilians between hunts.” Dean purred, and the sudden imagining of Cass as a librarian made him drag his eyes down his chest and back, licking his bottom lip. 

Cass sighed, eyes locked on his mouth and it excited Dean to know he was looking at him. 

“I’m not very skilled in the human world. I may need your help figuring out where I best fit in.” He said and lifted his eyes, staring at him from under his lashes. 

Shit, was that an innuendo? It couldn’t be. Cass may understand humanity better, especially in the last couple years, but to be so suggestive? Dean leaned a little closer, setting his whiskey to the side with a smile crawling up his face. “You know I’ll teach ya everything.”

Cass smiled that slow, genuine smile of his, and Dean found himself staring at his lips. “Everything?”

His eyes snapped back up to his eyes, his heart suddenly in his throat. When had they gotten so close; he didn’t mind, but it was also so distracting. 

Dean practically fell forward, his lips brushing half of Cass’ mouth, startling them both if the pause and the gasps from them both said anything. Dean felt his face warm, easing back, an apology on his lips, only to have Cass shift, angling their mouths better, and he gripped Dean's collar, pulling him close and the kiss trembled back to life between them. Dean felt his own stomach flip with nerves; a shy, slow push of lips, of a tongue grazing his bottom lip, of a stuttering withdrawal that left them hovering so close together in hopes the other would just push forward a little…

It sneaked up on him, but Dean realized he had just kissed him; him. He opened his eyes, drinking in Cass’ dazed look, like that small kiss had changed his view of all things sensual, and Dean couldn’t stop the cold grip of panic. He just kissed a man.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to not move, to sit there, hovering, to look down at Cass’ lips, to drink in the expression of wonder on the angel’s face. Dean felt his own lips tingle from the caress, a feeling in which he felt he was still kissing Cass. He liked it. But that portion inside his head screaming at him for kissing a guy, made him suck in a breath and pull back slowly, head spinning. 

“I liked that very much.” Castiel whispered, voice rough and breathy. 

Dean licked his lip and swore he could taste Cass there. He agreed, he was just too afraid to say it. 

They agreed it was time for bed, between the long day and the roiling emotions, Dean needed time; but instead, they stood there, hovering in the hallway, a rather tipsy Castiel staring up at him, far too close, far to expectant, and Dean was just barely holding it together. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel said when it became apparent he wasn’t going to kiss him again, he wasn’t going to do something as rash as invite him into his room, that he wasn’t brave enough to just tell him he was scared out of his fucking mind because it was all too new too fast. 

Dean lay there in bed, staring up at his ceiling, pressing a fingertip to his lips, still feeling the chapped and welcoming kiss linger there, teasing him, urging him for more—and Dean threw his arm over his eyes, wishing he had. 

  
//

  
Dean crawled into Cass’ bed halfway into the night, that gnawing fear of him being a memory come morning jerked him awake and chased him down the few doors to Cass’ room. The angel didn’t even question why he had barged into his room and been woken up with Dean wrapping him up in his arms, clinging to him on the slightly too small bed frame. 

Cass just wrapped his arms around him in return, head pillowed against his chest, and he fell back to sleep, letting Dean keep vigil. Dean closed his eyes and breathed him in, his heart slowing to a relaxed thump with his nose buried in his mop of hair. 

  
//

  
Jack arrived a month later, appearing at breakfast one morning, a smile on his face and hints of tears in the corners of his eyes. Castiel leapt from the table, dragging Jack up into a hug, and Jack clung to him. The single most powerful being in all the universe, and he cried like a baby as he gripped at Castiel’s t-shirt. 

“I knew Dean got you out. I helped by exchanging your grace for a soul, but I just missed you so much.” Jack blubbered against his shoulder, both effectively clearing up how the hell Dean was able to get Cass out of the Empty as well as just confirming how much the kid cared. 

They ended up piled on the couch, watching Scooby-Doo with Daphne cradled against Jack’s chest. The little chick had grown in just the past month; all gangly legs and her neck looking like it was too long for her body, and her fluffy yellow down slowly being replaced with mottled red and white feathers. She clucked now and then, nestled in Jack’s arms. Dean chanced a glance down at his little family when their talking subsided; Jack sat between them, leaning into Castiel where he had fallen asleep against his chest, and in return, Cass was slumped into Dean’s shoulder, eyes closed and a small snore rumbling from his chest. 

Shifting, just barely, Dean flipped the tv off, leaned back on the sofa, and closed his eyes, warm and happy where he was—but when he tilted his head so his nose pressed against the top of Cass’ head, his hair tickling his lips and chin, then he was able to drift to sleep. 

  
//

  
-Three Months Later-

“That looks like it hurts.” Dean winced, gripping Cass’ chin to lift his face up so he could look at the cut. “If I get it cleaned up and patched right away, it might only leave a faint scar.” He mumbled.

Castiel flinched, confirming his assessment, and he lifted a hand to prod at the wound. “I wasn’t expecting a shape shifter to become Freddy Kruger. It’s an effective offensive shape, but extremely ostentatious out on the streets.” 

Dean snorted at him, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. Castiel returned the smirk, but winced as his cheek twinged in pain. Dean popped the trunk and they threw their gear inside, Castiel glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye out for unexpected guests. 

“How did I do?” Castiel asked, turning back to him, tilting his head as Dean paused, looking him up and down.

“Only one scratch and you managed to deliver the final shot, I’d say you did A+ work out there, trainee.” He winked, and Castiel’s stomach filled with butterflies. He liked it when Dean joked with him, he liked it when Dean reached back up, hand settling along his jaw and his thumb gently prodding beneath the wound again, a frown on his face. He didn’t like him sad, but he liked feeling as if Dean was concerned about him. 

Castiel reached for his jacket, gripping the front of it, copying the way Dean would do the same thing to him when he was trying to get his attention. 

Their eyes met, and Cass watched Dean’s throat bob alongside a little sharp inhale as they stood there in front of his trunk, battered, bruised, and Dean was sporting his own small cut along his brow. Castiel again felt those very human urges to press himself against this man and… rub? He didn’t quite know other than comparing the euphoria he had felt with his one sexual experience. He had tried watching more porn, but really, it just seemed a jumbled mess meant to maximize on loud noises. He figured, if he wanted to understand these emotions and urges, who better to look to than Dean? It seemed like a wonderful idea.

Dean’s eyes drifted back to his cheek, his thumb tickling the heated flesh, brushing over it so delicate it was hard to compare this man’s almost shy affections with the man who had once upon a time possessed the Mark of Cain. 

He bent suddenly, dipping the small gap between them, and Dean pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then another, and another. Castiel’s eyes slipped shut, his lips parting, and he felt Dean’s lips brush across the corner of his mouth. He leaned into him, his fingers tightening on Dean’s jacket, and he tilted his mouth to his, and they gasped against one another, hovering, waiting. He knew Dean was the one still hesitant, still uncertain of all this, and as much as Castiel wanted to surge forward, to be the one to wrap an arm around Dean’s waist and jerk him close and claim his mouth, he also knew how delicate Dean was at the moment concerning the issue. To be patient, to wait, to silently show his approval when Dean did initiate anything's…. Castiel was good at being patient.

Dean kissed him, and Cass sighed, loud and relieved, kissing back, lips parting, feeling his hips push forward because he had waited for this to happen again, to kiss him, to feel him settle a hand on his hip and hold him against him. He wanted as much of this as he could get. Some part of him felt greedy for desiring all of Dean Winchester to himself, but another part of him, the one who rebelled for him, who fell for him, who turned his back on everything he had once believed in because he believed in this man more than any doctrine; Castiel craved whatever Dean would give him, and hope for a little more. 

He kissed him, humming against his mouth, and Dean grunted against him, his tongue dipping into his mouth, and Cass trembled. Dean leaned into him, the kiss more aggressive, drawing noises out of Castiel he didn’t know were there, his body feeling warm and needy. He arched against him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders, hips thrusting—

Dean inhaled sharply and pulled back, his thumb twitching against his cheek and Castiel flinched against the sharp pain. 

“Sorry…” Dean said, voice rich, husky, but his eyes darting away, the hand on his hip pushing him back an inch or so, just enough so that Castiel realized he was hard; they both were, and Dean was freezing up, his shoulders stiff, eyes darting off with a wild look to them, cheeks flushed. 

Castiel sighed, his brow dropping to Dean’s shoulder, taking a moment as his blood went from a boil to a gentle simmer. Four months of being human, of stealing away these occasional moments with Dean, and Cass knew, he understood, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with the cold showers.

But the stiffness in Dean’s frame, the nervous twitch of his fingers against his hip, said it all. Castiel straightened, stared Dean dead in the eyes, and hooked his fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down to him for a second, slower kiss. A kiss so soft and fleeting, he even wished he hadn’t had to soothe away the burn from the previous one. 

“We should go. Get patched up and washed up.” Castiel whispered against his lips, and Dean nodded, his shoulders finally relaxing. 

Cass smiled and Dean mapped his face. It was all right, he reminded himself. They had all the time in the world. 

  
//

  
He took Castiel to a movie. It was awkward as hell and Cass seemed to have no idea why they were even doing it. At least when they went to dinner they got to talking, laughing over better times, teasing about current plans, and sheepishly talking about future what-ifs, and that Cass understood. 

“Is this a date?”

Dean smiled, feeling Cass’ foot tease along his ankle, and he dropped his gaze to Cass’ lips then back to his eyes and shrugged, “Figured it was about time.”

They shared pie and coffee; then ordered another pie because one piece is never enough. 

Dean paid, they exited the dinner, and his hand settled on the small of Cass’ back, as natural as could be, and Cass leaned into him, purring a thank you. Dean bowed his head, smiling, a fuzzy warmth blossoming in his chest. Castiel slid his arm around his waist, the pair walking slow and leisurely in no particular direction, simply walking to just walk beside one another. 

They passed a group on their way back to the parking lot, three other couples out on a group date. As they passed, Dean felt it, their eyes on them, the men staring at the back of his neck, judging. His arm tightened around Cass, moving to pull away, and Cass bumped his hip, sliding his hand into his back pocket and startling him into jerking his head around, staring the scant inch of difference down at him. Cass gazed back at him, a small smile on his face, but there was a tightness at the corner of his eyes. 

Dean glanced down at the sidewalk, breathing through the racing of his heart. Sliding his arm over Castiel’s shoulders, Dean turned toward him, slowing their walk to a stop and he pressed a kiss into his hairline, just above his eye. 

The grin Cass gave him made him feel like less of a dick, but he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, look back toward the group they passed…. 

Not a single one was looking at them. 

“I like this.” Cass whispered, trailing the tip of his nose up the side of Dean’s chin. 

“Me too.” Dean said, and meant it.

  
//

  
“I asked Eileen to marry me.” Sam said, standing awkwardly on the stairs. 

Dean blinked up at him, mouth twisting down in surprised approval, and then raised his beer to him, “Congrats. About time.”

Sam shot a glare at him, cheeks red, but he thumped his way down the stairs and sat across from him, finger tapping on the table with their initials carved into the wood. 

“So?” Dean prompted, raising his brows. 

“She said yes.” 

“Yeah she did.” Dean grinned, wagging his brows at him. 

Sam’s face twisted up into yet another scowl bordering on bitch-face nineteen, but when Dean didn’t continue ribbing him, Sam met his eyes. He was honestly happy for his brother, it was everything he ever wanted for him. Raising his beer, and holding his gaze, Dean toasted him because he deserved it. “Seriously. Congratulations. You two are going to be great together.”

His brother smiled then, eyes dropping to the table, his thumb still tapping a rhythm, “Thanks.” He shifted in his seat, glancing at him then away, “So, you going to be okay being here? Alone?”

Dean furrowed his brow, confused. “What are you talking about? Cass will be here.”

And he knew the second the words left his mouth he had just walked right into whatever Sam was ready to launch at him, a smirk already on his face and a glimmer in his eyes. A look that said it was his turn to finally annoy the piss out of him. “Yeah he is. Hunting with him all weekend, hanging out, alone, all week.” Sam cajoled, wagging his brows, and in all his enjoyment at teasing him, Dean barked out a laugh, because what the hell was that? That was the worst teasing ever. 

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean continued to practically cackle in laugher, wiping at his eyes. 

“Hell, Sammy, you gotta make it stick if you’re gonna embarrass a guy.” Dean chuckled, and shook his head, tipping his beer back for a drink with a sigh of amusement.

“So that wasn’t you in the kitchen last weekend with Cass’ tongue down your throat?”

He choked on the beer and it dribbled down his chin, his body going stark cold and the frantic desire to deny, deny, deny, and then storm off was screaming in his head. He swallowed hard, feeling the blood drain from his face, heart hammering. Though he may have said something months ago during the final days of Chuck, Dean hadn’t said anything more to Sammy about any of it. The idea of his brother catching him and Cass kissing… 

He dropped his eyes, rubbed a sweaty palm against his thigh, mouth dry. 

Before he could figure out what he was going to do, Sam tapped his knuckles on the table, drawing his attention, and he smiled, that sweet, innocent one Sam had never really lost. “I’m happy for you.”

Dean jerked his eyes to him then away, his face still feeling a little drained of blood and feeling jittery. 

“I know you’re still… trying to be okay with it.” Sam waved a hand in his direction. “But, I’m just happy you are happy. I can see it, ya know?” He met his eyes and Dean stiffened, wanting to look away, wanting to just fucking run out the door. But Sam’s gaze pinned him in place and he wasn’t sure even archangels would be able to drag him out of his seat. “You… laugh more. I was thinking about it last week, because even after that hunt a few weeks back, and Cass got hurt, and you were worried sick… he called you a ‘assbutt’ and it got you laughing so hard; and I know that’s what Cass intended by saying it in the first place.” He finally dropped his eyes and Dean jerked his head down, gulping in a breath of air because he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. 

“You always talk about wanting the best for me, and me having a life I want; get that apple pie life you always talk about. But, the thing is, Dean, I want the same for you. I don’t mean a normal life. Yeah, you’re a hunter through-and-through and you’ll die one, going out like old Rufus or Bobby… and I pray to Jack that doesn’t happen any time soon. But… I mean… that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have something that is just yours that makes you happy.” Sam held his gaze, waiting for him to understand. 

He did, he just felt weird about it. For multiple reasons. 

“If you and Cass are happy here, I’m happy for you. But, Eileen and me, we got this idea, that the house in town, we could sell it and find some land—still close enough to be in the suburbs, but with enough space between us and the neighbors that… if you and Cass wanted, we could,” Sam shifted, brows knotting together, “we could build a little house out on our land that would be just yours… and Cass’.”

Dean stared at his brother, a bit of awe filling him. The very idea of Eileen discussing that with him left his mind buzzing. “And… she’s okay with that? Seriously?”

Sam smiled. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if she wasn’t. It was her idea actually.”

Dean dropped his eyes, staring at the table, beer forgotten. 

The vague dream, growing older and gray… 

Dean bobbed his head, lifting a hand to rub his eye because it suddenly was very itchy and not at all warm and damp. “I… uh… that’s amazing…” he whispered. 

Sam smiled, “And with the land Bobby left us, I figured we could go and scavenge what we can, make sure no one finds his panic room,” the two smirked at that, “and if we sell it off, we could effectively get quite the piece of land, maybe two lots worth and enough left over to build the house…” 

He’d forgotten about the Sioux Falls land. The idea that Bobby really had thought of them as sons and left them an inheritance had floored him after Sam told him about the lawyers several months after he got back from Purgatory. It had been so strange, the idea they had a place they could go home to, could build a home on, could set down roots—at the time it had been nothing more than a drunken dream because of one apocalypse after another. But now, after Team Free Will actually won the free will of the world back? His chest tightened and he heard his blood rush in his ears. 

“I’ll… uh… I’ll definitely think about it. Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam smiled, staring down at the table, and it just felt so comfortable, so normal, the idea that they might just get some form of normalcy in life, some bit of happiness….

Cass stepped through the bunker door returning from his grocery run. He had insisted he go alone because he needed to take this opportunity to get better at shopping as a human. His smile was that ridiculous, over the top gummy grin of his that Dean was falling in love with as the days went by, and Cass held up his plastic bags, showing him he had succeeded and bought things. He practically beamed with pride as he offered Dean a package of jerky, a Busty Asian Beauties magazine, a carton of eggs, ground beef, and a stalk of celery; Dean couldn’t stop his laugh at how adorable he was. Cass forgot half the other things on his list to go along with his purchases, but the little box of pie he promised he had looked specifically for him said it all. 

It didn’t feel so weird or mortifying to kiss Cass on the cheek as a ‘welcome home’ in front of his brother. The smile Cass gave him was worth it, and the smirk Sam gave him… somehow, it was also worth it.

  
//

  
It started innocent enough. Dean had been brushing his teeth, the pair getting ready for bed, relaxed in t-shirts and flannel sleep pants, or in the case of Cass, boxer-briefs. Then Cass had mumbled a good night, pressed a hand to the small of Dean's back, and brushed a kiss to the side of his neck, just under his ear. 

Castiel smiled then, a little knowing smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing, and Dean watched from the mirror as Cass huffed a breath against his skin, trailing the tip of his nose against his ear, and lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. A challenge if Dean ever saw one. 

Dean turned, wrapping an arm around Cass' neck and he pulled him in close, chuckling as he spat into the sink, hip checking him, even as Cass wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned into him, and Dean turned and planted a sloppy toothpaste covered kiss to his cheek with a grin of his own. Cass laughed, and it looked so good on him, nose crinkled up, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught. It devolved from there and went from a kiss here, a playful slap on the ass there, to more kissing. A little groping led to a lot of groping, and a few snickers let to bouts of laughter. He never remembered laughing so much with someone as they essentially made out like teenagers. 

Walking Cass backward to the bed, hands on his hips, and grinning into their kiss as Cass talked against his mouth because they were both unwilling to pull away from each other even an inch, Dean floated in how wonderful this all felt, how good he felt in that exact moment, and how wonderful it was to see Cass smile, relaxed and happy. 

The next thing Dean really comprehended after Cass fell into bed and Dean crawled after him, kissing up his neck and nibbling on his ear, was his hand up Cass' shirt, their legs tangled and pressing just right against each other, and the sharp tug on his hair that jerked him out of his little lust haze. He broke the kiss and pushed himself up on his elbows, gazing down at a flushed and very aroused Castiel. Blue eyes blown dark, lips kiss plumped, and hair a complete disaster. But it was the way he arched his back and rolled his hips up along his thigh, feeling every inch of hard flesh that made him almost aware for the first time he was also hard, and he was also pressing against the thigh between his legs that was pushing back against his balls just right....

Dean grunted, sitting up a little more, his pulse kicking up, deafening him, shocking him into an abrupt fear of what just happened, what had been happening, and what might happen. 

"No." Cass grunted, his fingers twisting in the edge of his sleep pants, holding him in place, eyes clearing just enough for him to curl toward him and kiss his jaw, panting against his skin. "You're not getting away this time."

"Cass.." he hated how his voice sounded so small and scared. 

Castiel leaned back and stared up at him, the very definition of bedroom eyes. He sighed, as if resigning himself to this ending—and shit, wasn't that a kick in the balls? He closed his eyes, desperate to tell his insecurity to fuck off so he could dip back down and lick those noises out of Cass' mouth. His dick definitely wanted him to do that, so why couldn't he take his foot off the breaks? 

He swallowed hard, lips parted to apologize, but he stopped, staring down at narrowed blue eyes with a twinkle sparking in their depths. With a tilt of Cass’ head, and a sensual curl of his hips in the process, Castiel sat up, pushing into his space, and forced Dean back as he hummed near his mouth. "Do you trust me?"

Dean nodded; it was himself he didn't trust. He was freaking out and the bad-ass hunter in him hated that he was freaking out.

"Sit up against the headboard." Cass ordered—and it was an order with no room for argument. 

Dean shifted and Castiel slid out from under him, shoving pillows up against the headboard so when Dean sat back, it felt comfortable and his back supported. Cass watched him with that same intensity he had come to associate with Cass, liking he was looking into his soul and wanting nothing more than to lick it. He glanced at him then away, and before he could sigh against the anxiety building in his gut, Cass slid onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and he cupped Dean's face, leaned in, and fluttered kisses against his cheeks and freckles.

“I will never ask more than you are willing to give, Dean. But you are getting in your own way because you are over-thinking. I for one want a little more of this with you." His voice dipped, dark and hungry, and Dean shivered, "I really like how this feels, and I think you do too." Cass’ voice was all whiskey and chocolate, dragging his lust back up to the surface, stroking it just right in the same way his hips rocked down against him and ground against his flagging erection. Dean grunted, and Cass pulled him right back into another kiss that left his head spinning. 

Dean forced himself to breathe, to tumble into the enjoyment and pleasure of this moment with Cass. He settled his hands on Castiel's hips without nerves telling him otherwise, and he allowed himself to appreciate the way Cass moved over him. Sliding his hands around his waist then back, Dean rubbed his palms along Cass' lean thighs, and dipped his head to kiss him deeper, tongue dragging along his lower lip, finally getting to lick those noises out of Cass' mouth as he whined. It felt good. Comfortable. Hot.

Castiel's hips moved, pushing, grinding against him, and Dean inhaled, holding still, his hands grabbing Cass' thighs. Castiel moaned against his mouth and arched his back, rolling his hips down and up, and his erection slid alongside his own, wringing a groan from Dean's chest. He grunted, panting into his mouth, and he slipped a little further over that wall of insecurity and internalized denial. 

"Dean..." Cass whispered, a soft mewl to his voice, his hips rocking against his, rubbing and thrusting down, sending sparks of pleasure through them both. 

His hips bucked upward, and a moan burst from Cass, the angel gripped the back of his hair and tugged, and Dean's hand grabbed his ass, jerking his hips against him and he ground up into him. Cass threw his head back, panting, scraping his nails across the back of his scalp, and Dean opened his eyes, watching Cass bask in the pleasure. He dipped his head and latched onto Cass’ collarbone, sucking a bruise against the racing beat of his heart. 

In a weird way, Dean had forgotten what pleasure felt like. What pleasure did in connecting flesh to flesh and making him feel like he was alive. On the road, jumping from dive-bar to dive-bar, a human connection was the only thing he could get that let him know he had survived. But this, here, thrusting up against Cass, dragging his lips down over Cass' throat and scraping his teeth against his jaw—nails digging into his shoulders as Cass' thighs flexed and rode him—it wasn't just him being alive, it was him living in a moment he wanted.

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning, guiding Cass' movements so they pressed and rocked just right that it made his balls tighten and pull up. Cass mewled in his ear, little huffs of breath that punched out of him now and then. Cass shoved a hand down between them, pressing his knuckles just right against their cocks, rubbing the damp fabric between them; his voice growing into a whine. His back bowed over him, his cheek brushing against Dean’s and their stubble rasped against each other, causing jolts of burning hot arousal straight down to his dick. Dean gasped, and Cass dropped his head to his shoulder, crying out, trembling in his arms. 

Dean felt something well up inside him, nearly suffocating him with the emotion, with the physical cresting feeling of an orgasm barreling down on him. Cass clawed at his back, hips bucking, his voice crying out the higher he climbed, and Dean could do nothing but wrap him up in a death grip, clamping a hand down on his shoulder, the other grabbing a handful of ass and jerking him down against him. 

And Castiel wailed, thrusting, riding his orgasm in Dean's lap, mouth pressed to his throat so every whimper and moan vibrated through his veins. 

Dean grunted, arching under him, and it was the soft kiss just below his ear, the whimpered 'love you' against his hair, that left Dean groaning and his own orgasm exploding in his sleep pants, his head thumping back against the wall, nerve endings tingling, and his dick twitching as he continued to grind against Cass. His blood sang, head reeling, and the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, all because of a quivering, pleasure-spent angel in his lap who pressed open mouthed kisses to the side of his mouth, and it felt as if he were the only thing he knew existed in the world. He thrust a few times, his cock giving a valiant twitch of interest for more, and Dean melted into Cass' arms with a moan.

Fingers tugged on his hair, forcing his head back, forcing him to look up into blue eyes dark from orgasm. Castiel kissed the side of his mouth, his nose, his hands smoothing away the sweat on his brow, and Dean shivered. God, he loved this man. 

  
//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. I got sick over the weekend and this chapter seriously spun out of control in length and size. It was supposed to be a simple little 2,000 word second chapter to kinda end it all. as of right now? its over 12,000 words long and still growing. Soooooooo, ya'll are going to get more chapters! yay~ and awkward at the same time. 
> 
> Anway; I hope you liked this. I'm feeling better, but I honestly think I got sick because of the series finale and how not okay I was about it (and also from staying up so late for almost a week straight to write as much as I had so quickly). My emotions are complex about the series finale and there isn't enough room for me to try and explain the duality of emotions I have about it all because there are parts I liked, there are parts I even agreed with, but there are others that made me so sad I was teetering on depression because it just made everything so unbearably sad (and I know its because covid screwed it up). But at the end of the day, I didn't like the ending and if I can help it, i will never rewatch episode 20 again. (i guess i shouldn't say never.... but it'll probably be a few years before I even think about doing it)
> 
> As far as Cass, I was trying to figure out maybe how he would be as human... We have so many great examples of him as human, that I ultimately decided Cass might be this mixture of 'Steve' and Endverse!Cass. I felt like because Cass finally had his heart's greatest desire (Dean) then he wouldn't sensor himself from allowing himself to desire what he wants, but with a bit of worldly understanding the way Cass was when he was Steve and caring for himself... so I ended up with this mixture of Cass being an independent man who isn't afraid of his sexual desires. Cass understands genders and the roles that gender plays in humans (he has the Winchesters as his front row show) but Cass is also first and foremost an angel and he just wouldn't give a flying rat's ass about gender stereotypes or prejudice. Cass has always possessed this confusion as to why humans do what they do, and though he understands it better than any other angel, he still has moments where he tilts his head and asks 'why?' because its just so stupid to his angelic sensibilities. Anyway. Super long answer to just say I decided to make Cass independent with a sexually active drive in regards to Dean, and with a sassy streak. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I do love getting your comments and feedback! 
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel


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